


What A Good Idea!

by DJOfRadioGallifrey



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV), Inspector Morse - Colin Dexter
Genre: Bank Robbery, Crime Solving, Dating, Detectives, F/M, Friendship/Love, Matchmaking, Meddling Parents, Oblivious, Oblivious Endeavour, Oblivious Joan, Plotting Parents, Random Encounters, Romantic Friendship, Secret Admirer, wounded Endeavour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJOfRadioGallifrey/pseuds/DJOfRadioGallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Finally was persuaded to post here after a year of debating) Napping at DI Thursday's house, is where it all begins. Mr and Mrs Thursday talk while young Morse lies blissfully unaware in the other room. Enter the striking Joan Thursday, which won't be the last time. The detective constable has to deal with several run-ins with Joan, and vice versa. Oh the possibilities. Morse has several personal investigations to conduct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steam pressed trousers drew Fred Thursday's attention away from the usual centrepiece of the lounge. The television which held prominence in the dimly lit room was no match for the lanky detective constable lounging on the sofa. The DI's coat accompanied him on the sofa, he draped it over the younger gent to hopefully remove the chill brought on by blood loss. The boy needed to learn how to take care of himself, basic life skills on top of learning how to be a good detective. But for now Inspector Thursday took it upon himself to nurture the fool…

The sleepy detective smacked his lips from above the collar of the coat, and frowned. Jesus, the boy was still trying to crack a case even comatose. It was Thursdays' turn to frown. What was he kidding? - The young detective wasn't a fool, he was brilliant, a brilliant mind never really switches off. He hoped he would remain that way, along with his innocence, perhaps even become faster at solving the latest escapades. Faster than he already was? - Now that's pretty damn fast. Crime prevention would be the next step.

The boy- ha…the boy? Endeavour's attention to detail was commendable, he deserved awards for things that he himself hadn't even accomplished yet in his long career on the force. The DI was proud to say, he was the one who had given him the chance, to extend a hand to the policeman who whittled away his free time at his desk staring at pictures and hieroglyphics, when his colleagues had long gone to the pub.

His wife called from the kitchen- "He isn't one of those new fangled vegetarians is he?"

"Not to my knowledge." He responded, carrying his loud voice out of the room. "Though he looks it."

"Suppose he doesn't like my cooking?"

He began to sip at the beverage he had poured for his colleague. "Nonsense, everybody loves your cooking." He consciously settled the glass back down on the table- before his wife could catch him stealing.

Fred's eyes fell upon the fair face of the slumbering man as he straightened. Fair indeed; light brown eyelashes on pale cheeks, delicate cheekbones, and his permanently perplexed mouth- he could imagine this would appeal to the fairer sex, because even a man of his stature would look twice. He hadn't failed to notice the many pairs of eyes that trail on them walking down the street. DC Ian McLeash's pair of eyes are frequently in Morse's shadow, leering with distaste…or was it disgruntled admiration? It couldn't be anything else- anything legal that is.

Silence consumed the living room, that and the ticking clock on the mantel. There wasn't any reason to be here watching over his apprentice, it seemed to slip his mind that he could leave and dress for dinner, or read the paper. His fingers rapped on his trousers idly, eating up into his family time staring affectionately at the new addition in his home. Okay- this is a trifle odd now. He felt he was on the verge of bizarre perversion, he hadn't even stared at a woman this long - except his wife. Staring at a decent looking male colleague with such interest was beyond not normal. He stood abruptly to take his leave, and nearly walked smack bang into his wife holding his hot cup of tea. "Owh."

"Nearly." She smiled, the fright still in her eyes. The cup changed hands and she dithered in the doorway as if coming to conclusion her husband had spent the past 5 minutes hovering over their guest – after tucking him in. She detected paternal energies in the room, which was understandable; the man was young, and shy by what she gathered in their last meeting, and she expressed this opinion earlier in the kitchen. But by what her husband had told her, he was an impressionable man that was smart and bold. Such conflicting attributes; a bold and shy policeman? Perhaps she should use the word gentle instead?

Mr Thursday watched her over his mug- wondering what had her in a daze. "Something up?"

"He's very pale."

He nodded. "Anaemic, god knows what sort of lifestyle he lives outside of work." He passed her in the doorway to return his cup to the sink. "You know…he had never had a tipple in his life."

She huffed. "What- until he met you?" She knew her husband all too well, probably stopped off at a few pubs in between cases. "Please don't try to fit him into your mould."

"-Wouldn't hurt though…?"

"Promise me."

The inspector felt his knees quiver at the sound of his missus' voice, and the rewards given. "He'll be fine with me." His wife relaxed and jolted forward in merriment to smother him with kisses, he managed to control her and himself with a firm squeeze of her forearms. "I think I understand now what Morse needs." She retracted back to listen intently. "A good woman to take care of him."

She nudged him away affectionately. "Oh I see, you're not looking for a lodger are you?- Trying to give me another son to mother. He don't need nursing, you know?" She swaggered over to the sink to clean the dirties. Mrs Thursday sensed her husband eyeing her from the doorway. "I suppose this woman will cook and clean in his accommodation, and darn his socks while he's at work?" She felt his arms hug her waist, she straightened, her hair moving into the path of his warm breath. "Look at yourself, going all gooey just so you can get your way."

He rumbled in humour behind her. "I wouldn't get you to put more work upon yourself."

Then why was he trying? She smirked. "Then what?"

"Inquire at the women's institute." He said that like he meant it, as if it was as easy as baking a cake. The stiffness in her posture must have been felt, for he retracted from her steadily as if she were a spooked horse. "Sweetheart."

She turned on him shrewdly. "You expect me to advertise for a maid for your colleague." The bold inspector seemed to shrivel up before her. "Don't get me wrong, he is a very nice young man- but don't degrade the boy by putting him through that, and don't put me on the spot like that."

His hands were up to defend himself. "He's young and doesn't seem to have any life outside of work, perhaps he doesn't have a nice environment to go home to."

Damn, he had her. Mrs Thursday winced. "He is a nice young man…"

"-Yes, you know it makes sense."

"Maybe we could devise a routine?"

"-What a jolly good idea." He needed to put all the credit on her, he needed her on his side- she was a mother after all. "He could have dinner over here twice a week." He maintained his head of the house voice even though really in this day and age- it was his wife who was the commander and chief of the ship.

She nodded assertively, coming around to the idea.

Mr Thursday beamed. "Perhaps wash his clothes?" It left his mouth too soon.

His wife looked a little less pleased. "The boy does look clean enough for him to have done his own. He has clean finger nails after all."

Her husband shrugged, it hadn't occurred to him he was a modern man who did everything for himself. "He still could do with a housekeeper, or landlady."

"What about his own mother?" Soon as this left her mouth, she was blighted by thoughts of him being an orphan, till her husband could reassure her…

"He doesn't speak of his parents often, so I assume a broken home."

Mrs Thursday placed a hand to her heart. "Bless him." Silence deafened the room, through thoughtfulness and respect to those being spoken about. "Perhaps a maid wouldn't be out of the question?- You should talk to him really, discreetly."

"I don't think he will approve." He shot it down immediately.

"But he will listen to you?"

"Yes, but- he wouldn't feel like he accomplished anything if he knows I'm doing it for him- out of pity."

"Well if he is as gentle as you say he is- he wouldn't have that much pride." He couldn't believe she had said that. She noticed and corrected herself. "I mean he respects you enough to listen, he won't get defensive about the idea, will he?"

The inspector's stare was very informative. He might, he might not- he didn't know Morse that well, did he? "Let's just leave the boy alone, shall we?" She returned to washing her dishes. "You'd have thought we had just adopted him."

The inspector disappeared from the room, to quickly observe the person in question- still blissfully unaware of what was unfolding in the kitchen. He re-entered the kitchen quickly enough to startle his missus. "A maid would cost money." A dish plopped heavily back in the water. "A volunteer on the other hand…"

Mrs Thursday hovered over her plates in thought, suds floating before her. "A volunteer…"

The front door opened and slammed shut, removing the stillness from the house. For a split second the inspector believed it was Morse leaving after hearing the commotion- but the boy was too polite to dare leave without excusing himself properly. All was revealed when Joan Thursday emerged from the hall, removing her heels. "An appalling day, lost a pence on the bus and snagged my skirt on the dodgy seating- oh well nothing a needle and thread can't fix." She set her aching feet on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor sighing in relief. She rolled her head up to greet her family and blinked when she noticed her mother and father staring at her in a very peculiar way. "What?"


	2. Chapter 2

Ah yes- she did remember him; the quiet and polite chap who addressed her like a woman. Joan stood almost threateningly over the defenseless constable. "Okay, the romanticized nurse and patient effect isn't going to work with me, mother." She whispered harshly. The younger Thursday was literally being held in place by her mother. He stirred below her. Joan's face went tight with anxieties. "I feel like a human sacrifice…" She said even more quietly, Morse seemed to snuggle into the sofa cushions, oblivious.

"Look at the poor soul." Her mother said, to what she believed was for the umpteenth time.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Well actually-he's the human sacrifice- which is why I must pity him." Her mother squeezed her cruelly. "Bringing him into this mad household- exposing him to us, it's too late now- double exposure. Fatal." She noted it was her father's coat over him, scrutinizing it with concern. "Has Pops adopted him or something?- Dad never lends his coat out to anyone."

"Or so we believe." Mrs Thursday hinted, leaving the notion hovering in the air like a fart.

"What happened to leaving work by the hall stand?- He's cheated, he's brought the hall stand in here." She was about to yank the coat off of the constable.

"-Don't you dare." Was all she heard from the hall, and ceased all movement till the Lion had stopped rumbling. "He's had a rough day."

Joan's hair flapped out of her face with the speed of her turning her head. "What happened?"

"Rough day."

Her father was always inclined to tell her details about his work- so case related it was she concluded. She would have to quiz him about it later, and by 'him' she meant the guy on their sofa. What was his name again? "Is what's-his-name staying for tea?"

"Yes." Her parents replied in unison. And with that she was released from her mother's clutches. If they were having an extra mouth to feed it meant she would have to dine with her shoes on. Her flats were in the hall where she had left them. "Set the table."

"You didn't have to ask." Their dining room was quaint, frequently used as a study by her and her brother. Judging from her Dad's acquaintance with his 'friend'- they would use the usual cutlery as not to intimidate the guest. "Hang on- if you truly are going to force me into slave labour- should I really be doing this on top of that?"

"Don't complain- in my day we didn't get allowances." Mr Thursday brushed past his daughter, bestowing a kiss on the back of her head. She neared the end of her task when her brother suddenly appeared to her left as if by magic.

"Oh you." Joan uttered with false annoyance.

"There's a man in the living room."

"I know."

"Is it the man from the bank?" He pressed, toying with her efforts. "Pops thought he was wet."

"Well you have a poor memory." She straightened what he had tampered with. "No, the man isn't from the bank. It's one of dad's colleagues- the driver from the other day."

"-The ditherer."

"-I feel like I'm going to have this conversation all over again."

"What's going on?"

She sighed, long suffering. "Not having this conversation; man has had a rough day- man falls asleep, now he is dining with us." Their mother arrived with some condiments for the table. "Not another word."

He didn't listen. "Mum, there's a man in the living room." Sam repeated with more urgency, making anything Joan had said redundant, she growled.

Mrs Thursday smiled. "A human sacrifice." Joan shot her a look- not wanting Sam to know of their plans. "He got hurt while on the job." Mrs Thursday didn't fail to notice her daughter's sudden intrigue and concern – it was quite sweet.

"When were you going to tell me this?"

Sam shot his sister a bizarre look, before focusing back on mother. "A casualty? And he takes refuge here?"

"I'm sure he didn't choose to come here, your father must have put his foot down." Her tone dropped considerably as her husband entered the room with a glass of stout.

"I'll look up exactly where he's staying." He began without thought, Joan knew what he was referring to and cut across, before her brother could work out what was going on.

"-I'll sit by the door!" So she could escape when she had to. "Pop, will you sit by me?"

Mrs Thursday detected angst in her voice. "Make sure you leave a space for Morse."

"Oooo." A sudden noise emitted from the younger gent, startling everyone. "Are you sure that's wise? A strange man sitting an arms-length away from that mini-skirt."

The DI sputtered on his stout foam. "Sam!"

Joan managed to clip the back of his head before father could do it. It was enough to start a good bicker session as they sat down to dinner. "He isn't that sort of chap- too restrained."

"Too restrained?" Both parents caught onto this. The DI knew these were modern times, but decent meant too restrained?- Wasn't that enough? He cleared his throat. "Morse doesn't even touch drink- unless forced, so I think his interest in girls are….on second thoughts- we should put him across the table, in case the temptation creeps upon him." His girl Joan wasn't the type to go bashful at such topics, but he knew his daughter's mood would flare in the presence of her brother and another male.

"Erm…thank you." She murmured, seating herself comfortably by herself on one side, while her brother smirked at her from the other. Dinner reached their nostrils before it was placed before them. "Hm… it looks lovely." She was about to tuck in, when that annoying brother of hers made funny noises.

"Dit- dit- dah, now I remember him." His fork tapped on the edge of his plate imitating morse code.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Well it was only yesterday, his face isn't exactly forgettable." A stunned silence followed. "A dear-like face." She added, trying to both avoid and distract her family by sawing at her beef. "That's what I meant."

"Not as endearing as your beloved stalker." Sam butted, not even looking up. She was going to kill him.

Her father reared with surprise. "Stalker?- Joan are you having any trouble?"

Joan could feel her anxiety level rising. "No, no I'm not." She breezed, glaring at the abomination at the table. "Just a very generous breakfast date- well acquaintance really."

"Who's this then?" Her father tried not to press too hard or else she might not divulge.

"Ronnie."

"Ronnie Gidderton from the bank?- I thought you said he was a bit wet?" Mr Thursday was displeased.

"Well it's not my fault if you scared off all the decent ones." One sniff from her father and every suitor would run a mile. She crossed her arms ready for another bicker session, she didn't notice her father look up and over her head.

"Come in Morse, don't stand up on ceremony."

She felt suddenly wracked with guilt that she had just earlier been talking about him- it was just good timing- or maybe even luck that Morse had made himself known when she was on a new subject. Joan glanced in time to see the detective sheepishly manoeuvring into the room from the darkness of the hall. So he hadn't improved on his social etiquette, she would have to buy him a good manual.

"Budge up Sam." Her father instructed, she revelled in her delight- and imagined sticking her tongue out at her brother.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep. Sir." She could see this strange sort of smile creeping to his features- it stripped the fear from his aura.

"Well it looked like you could do with it." The DI gestured to his place at the table. "Mrs Thursday has done you some tea."

Mrs Thursday? – Luckily her mum had something to say about this- "Win dear." Okay, it wasn't much. He visibly relaxed as he shrugged into his allocated seat, she dared her brother to be the first sibling to speak to him.

"Are you feeling better?" A quick light of acceptance reached his eyes.

Morse read this as an honest question. "Oh yes much better, thanks." He grunted so quick she couldn't believe the anti-climax she felt.

"And what happened to you then?" It came out equally as quick and as careless. He met her gaze slightly off centre, so really he was looking everywhere but her eyes. Was this how he approached suspects and witnesses?

"Not at tea Joan, thank you."

She shot her father a look of indifference - "I was only asking." Noting the detective silently observing the exchange she smiled at him.

"I know what 'your only'." Did he really have to go into this in front of guests? "There's one rule in this house."

"-Where do we leave work?" Sam took over.

Oh really did he have to get involved to ridicule her. "On the hall stand by the front door." She kept flitting between her father and Morse to judge the level of intimidation. She found none; he was rather entertained by it all she figured. "What else are we going to talk about?- The Weather?" She heard their phone ringing in the hallway and hoped it was one of mates to the rescue.

Sam beat Joan standing up to go and get it. They couldn't have both of them racing to the phone."-Or whether you're too big for a spanking."

"Huh, I'd like to see you try?"

"You wait till I get back from the army."

It was her turn to closely observe him, he had finally decided to look down and tuck into his meal- it was probably to break away from what her father had just advised him confidentially, but fairly loudly for her to hear. He had barely nibbled at his grub when the phone call became urgent and summoned the detectives to the station. Upon this news she remained non-plus since it was a regular occurrence in her household. "You'll have to get some chips on the way home." She directed at Morse- who opened his mouth to speak, her ears wagged ready to listen when her father clapped him on the shoulder.

"Get your coat, Morse."

It had ruined what possibly could have been a witty moment, though Mrs Thursday was determined for it to end less abrupt. "Joan dear, go get the constable's coat." Joan didn't fail to notice that all eyes were on her, and made very sure she took her time getting up and walking into the other room, so as not to look too eager. The coat was in her grasp when she detected the awkward energy of a constable behind her. He was a lot further than she thought, his back was almost touching the wall and his hands were in his pockets. Bless him.

Her brother had opened the front door ready, while her mother was assisting her husband with his coat- it was a family affair when it came to departing. She felt something tugging at her hand and realised Morse was trying to lift the coat from her politely without disturbing her from her daze.

Patience. The youngest Thursday gave a resistant smile before gesturing with the coat for him to turn around. It wasn't a smooth operation- the moment he realized what she was about to do, he looked at the DI to silently ask for permission for his daughter to dress him.

"Hurry up, Joan." Was all Mr Thursday uttered down the hall.

The constable frowned, not able to deduct his boss's reason for the fuss. He had established that Joan was occasionally an obedient daughter, especially as he faced the door and was gently anointed with his coat. Is this what married life was like?

r&r


	3. Chapter 3

Joan went to bed with the light on. Not like her really, she just forgot to switch it off on the way, and now she was idly lying atop of her covers staring at the still lit bulb.

He had winced. She blinked, creating a neon spot in her vision from where the bulb had been- she turned onto her side to remove the strain from her eyes. Ronnie had originally taken up her thoughts as she had brushed her teeth, but as soon as she had crossed the landing -she had spied the front door and was reminded of the awkwardness that had played out in front of her family. Morse had winced when she had assisted him with his coat. Joan recalled her mother mentioning an injury- and she hadn't been ballsy enough to actually ask where it was. Against her better judgement she had asked her brother if he saw anything peculiar from his angle. To which he replied "Apart from the look of discomfort, pain and general misery- perfectly normal."

That deserved another clip around the ear, followed by a fast retreat to the dining room before her dinner went cold. Sam was at the table scraping Morse's meal on top of his. "Waste not want not."

"Greedy Pig." She pushed her food about her plate before nibbling at it. "I think I understand why he's the size he is." Though it was the constable she had had in mind when she had said this, it was her brother who took offence.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You never remember the exact moment you go to sleep. So she was surprised she got any at all, worrying about what could be required of her the next day.

The youngest Thursday normally enjoyed getting ready for the day; selecting clothes from her wardrobe, and accessorizing. Today, it was tedious work- since she didn't have classes today and her job had the disadvantage of being a little male dominated. Though there was another woman, Joan unfortunately drew the unwanted attention, from her peers and the old duffers that ran the place. Short skirts were the now of fashion, but they revealed her when she had to bend or go up stairs. But hell, she loved her pastel minis.

She felt like creeping downstairs that morning to avoid being forced to put on some cropped trousers, or be force fed some pancakes and bacon. Her mother wanted her to put on some weight, which she would gladly- if Twiggy and Grace Kelly put some on first!

Joan succeeded in silently slipping into her green wool coat and opening the front door when- her mother rushed her. Darn it. Mrs Thursday thrust a brown bag into her hands without a word of 'please'. "Mother, I'm a little old for packed lunches."

"Until I see you eat properly- you're never too old for packed lunches."

Joan peered into the bag with mock interest. "Corned beef." She used her work smile to fool her mother. "One of my favourites."

"Your father took some convincing as well, when I met him he had a poor appetite, then came marital bliss…"

"And he gained a few pounds." She finished cheekily, discreetly putting the sandwiches in her pocket.

Her mother briefly mirrored her smirk. "Yes, but I call them children."

"Haha- good one mum!" And that was a good finish before taking her leave, or so she thought. Her mother surprised her with yet another bag and a note. "Oh, what's this?" She frowned.

"Your mission." Mrs Thursday gave her a quick peck on the cheek before closing the front door- and sealing her daughter out into the world- of secret missions and espionage. Their family needed to read less Ian Fleming and more cookbooks!

Joan didn't wait till she was down the street to open the note, it all but burned in her hand before she reached the end of her drive. Morse – followed by an address to an urban area was scrawled out on the paper. She figured it was quickly given over the phone- she recognised the paper and pen they reserved for that use. There was a fleeting look back at the house in puzzlement, just in time to see the front-room's curtains twitch back into place. Were they testing her nerve?

If she must, she must. When she reached the high street- the final stretch of road to her place of work, she heard the unmistaken ring of a bicycle bell directly behind her. Gathering herself -she turned. "Ronnie."

The teddy boy moonlighting as a bank clerk grinned at her from his 'mount'. "Yer' alright Joannie? I thought I'd catch ya before you went in." His work voice was non-existent as he came fully onto the pavement. She smiled at him sweetly to show her interest in him.

"Always keen I see, you could have given me a lift?"

He laughed heartily, knowing most girls were turned off by plain old bicycles- Joan though would never let it be known, her distaste never shown itself outwardly. That could have been a huge flaw on her part, she was too friendly, so everyone assumed she was game. If she could be more stand-offish- she would cut her problems in half. Though she had her wit- when she dare use it, that certainly scared off a few people.

"I'll buy yer' a bap at the next café if yer' let me walk yer' to work?" Aww- he tried.

She tipped her head at him as they walked. "That seems a little redundant- seeing as we're already walking together and have missed every café on the strip." She saw the clockwork in his head ticking, then he laughed- again heartily, as if she had said the funniest thing in the world.

"Come on, stop yanking my chain- it's been awhile since we had a decent breakfast together." His eyes were full of longing, which always made her weary he was going to suddenly pop down on one knee and propose to her at one of these 'dates'. "Or I could simply invite you around mine- after work?"

Joan stopped in her tracks. "I'm not sure your family would approve."

"-It was their idea."

"-What?" That frightened her greatly, though it wasn't evident in her voice. "What have you told them about me?" She continued- trying to sound proud.

"You know, your family, our work, how we've been meeting and greeting each other. " It sounded like it was going to turn into a list- he cleared his throat. "Look- my family want to meet you, I said I'd bring you round for dinner…soo…?"

Jesus Christ- this is the day she discovered her fear- a day she would meet the parents of a boyfriend, and not the best boyfriend she had ever had. Okay- a little mean. The walls were closing in on their relationship, and she did feel like she was fast approaching a proposal. Run. The idea of getting roped into a marriage filled with nothing in common but the same route to work would kill her. She had frozen on the payment, face set into a perplexed sort of grimace. "Oh…I'm sorry Ronnie." She wet her lips. "My family have made plans- I have to do this thing, I won't be able to…I'm sorry."

He deflated very slowly, painfully slowly. "Oh…Hm…okay." She smiled awkwardly to gauge him. "Can I ask what the thing is?"

Okay, she should have expected that. "Family errand." It was the truth. "Here." She pulled her lunch bag out of her pocket. "I made them myself." Liar!

He took it from her cagily, peering into the bag clearly expecting something good- before smiling like a Cheshire cat. Oh god, he didn't think this was a proposal, did he? "Thank you." He pulled her into a hug, wind-ing her.

She stared horrified over his shoulder. "Okay…you're welcome?" She reasserted her 'happy to help' face before he got a chance to see the sudden transition. Though it wasn't a simple pull back, he puckered up and applied suction to her face, to which she desperately try to remove herself from with squeals of anguish. The kafuffle on the pavement continued for about 5 minutes before a random passer-by honked at them- saving her by killing the mood. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course." And she left him at the scene of the assault, with her hands shoved awkwardly in her pockets. Joan didn't feel the need to look back- she was embarrassed and late for work.

While digging into her pockets for change to buy a packet of mints- she found a lunch bag, and to her dismay it contained her corn beef sandwiches. Shit- she had given Ronnie her assignment!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You think being the curious woman she was- she would have inspected the contents of the 'other lunch bag' simultaneously with the note. But she hadn't. So for all she knew she could have given Ronnie chocolates, or a tie and cuff-links. Though how would that hold onto the pretense that she had 'made them herself?'- Well it was a little too late to worry about it now, she had to replace the item (whatever it was) or come up with something even better. It weighed on her mind throughout work, in between serving and smiling at the customers.

The note she had been bequeathed that morning was crumpled in her pocket, but it was still decipherable- so she had no excuse not to succeed this mission. She bought chocolate, an apple and a tie clip with some of her wages. Joan was about to place them in her now empty lunch bag until she caught a whiff of its previous occupants. She was forced to use some of her perfume to freshen up her bag before recycling it.

When her shift was over, she walked with one of her fellow female colleagues to the urban area written on the paper, when they quizzed her on her business in the area- she claimed she was looking up a relative before bidding them good day.

The address was a modest little boarding house just off the high street, she stared up at it from the railing with trepidation, before she found herself on the doorstep studying the buzzers. This was ridiculous- getting nervous over nothing. It was probably because her family had put this on her, and her father's work was just as important to her as it was for him. So doing things for his colleagues is….productive? She scrutinised the bag in her hand- chocolates and a tie pin- why? Maybe what she actually lost in the original bag was a get well soon card. Bugger.

One of the buzzers had a newly applied label with 'Morse' scrawn onto it. He shouldn't be home, unless he was indeed resting from his injury. Joan hadn't considered the possibility of contacting the individual in person. Though she was a very social person, outside the house it changed the context of things. A girl showing up at a man's flat to shower him with- gifts, wasn't entirely innocent. If she was going to assist Morse, shouldn't they have informed him? Maybe he was expecting her? Her finger hovered over the buzzer before she chickened out and clicked the one above it. 'French'

Within minutes she was allowed into the residence- hardly safe. A woman in the hallway watching her from their door she figured was that who buzzed her in. "Hello?"

Joan smiled across. "Sorry to bother you, I needed someone to take in a package for me- for the gent next door?"

The woman looked put out. "Why didn't you buzz him?"

"That's a good question. One I have no answer for-"She could tell 'French' was unimpressed. "But hey ho- I'll attempt something decent; right- hm… I haven't really known the man very long, and I believed it would be safer to pass the goods onto someone who may be more acquainted with him." She held out the package like she had won an argument. A condescending look bristled her. "Obviously not." She added more quietly.

"Well lucky for you- he isn't in."

"That's the way I like it." Joan had worked out the woman wasn't going to be compliant wilfully, so she slowly placed the bag by his door. "I'll just leave this here, then." She whispered to herself more than anything. Just before she departed; she saluted the woman. Joan caught a table in the hallway, and zoned in on a key by a pot of flowers- she snagged it in passing and exited. The door closed abruptly behind her, either caused through wind, or the cow in the hallway. The downside to her anxieties was; she didn't get the payoff in person – so she would have to rely on her father.


	4. Chapter 4

The drive back to the station took longer than usual, due to the silence that had consumed both the Detective Inspector and the Constable. The older gent had a tremor in his hand from the drama that had unfolded on the roof of that building. His tobacco had spilled onto the car floor several times in his attempt to fill his pipe.

Morse's hand shot across to the glove compartment in order to open it."Use the draw to catch the bits, sir."

"Good thinking." He commented modestly, very persistent in having a smoke while sealed in their steel box. "Remind me when I get back to the station- to call my wife, the paperwork will let it slip my mind."

"Yes, Sir." Still concentrating on the road, he let his mind reflect back on the Thursday household; comfortable, organised, and occasionally argumentative. He supposed it was in their genes; to have the outside exterior of a loving warm brood, but the capability to be sharp and resilient. It certainly showed in the younger Thursdays. They were good examples of today's generation- alien to his upbringing, but fascinating subjects to study and poke with a stick. One rather unprofessional thought came to mind when recollecting standing on his DI's doorstep, but he eliminated it from his head like he did suspects in an inquiry.

Family. Morse had fond memories of having a sister; Joyce, she had been accommodating to his craft. He figured the Thursday siblings had that connection- but more powerful. It had been a nice change of scene being around his mentor's place, compared to his dark lodgings. "I could do the necessary paperwork- I'm up for a nice night in the office."

"Morse, if this is an excuse to climb the hierarchy ladder, I'm having none of it. You need to rest, and eat. You could kill yourself if you don't use a pit stop once in a while." There was a heavy tapping on the side of the door, Morse glanced across and saw Fred banging his pipe. "I suppose you'll sleep even better tonight, knowing that lunatic's behind bars."

It had given him a little scare. Not enough to render even his shortest naps- oh wait, he didn't take naps, or snack breaks- So it wouldn't have affected his appetite. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, still in control of the car.

"You make me nervous nowadays when you're behind the wheel. How am I suppose to trust you if you don't take my advice?- Pull over, I'll take to the wheel and take you home."

"No, I've got this covered. I want to wrap up this case by doing the paperwork, while it's still fresh in my head." His thin build fidgeted in the driver's seat, keeping the inspector apprehensive. "It's how I mentally deal with things."

"Actually, it's your music, and you won't get that in the office." The constable caught Thursday glance at him craftily. "Something tells me they'll be something else nice waiting for you at home." He smirked at that notorious furrowed brow that adorned the young man's features frequently.

"-Well…err… there's my book collection that needs organising?" Still clueless on whatever Thursday was insinuating.

"Whatever makes you keen, hold onto that." Fred retorted in jest. "Anything to get you home sooner."

Morse gave a wince of a smile, before a set of traffic lights beckoned him.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He wasn't sure what to make of his DI's deliberate attempts to get him out of the office. Soon as Endeavour had sat at his desk to fill out some forms, the inspector made a big deal about there being no tea or coffee left in the office and the staffroom. "Dear me, looks like you'll have to take your caffeine dose at home."

Endeavour pressed on regardless under the lamp on his desk.

"I think we have a mouse in the office, maybe even a rat." Fred chipped in, breezing by the desk. Endeavour merely glanced up, but did lift his feet off the ground to avoid any suspecting nibbling visitors.

Soon all natural day-light had left the room, and by then many colleagues had clocked out, leaving Fred and Endeavour alone after hours. There was an unexpected nip of cold air that reached his skin. Upon analysis; he discovered a window had been left open. Fred, as if on cue- appeared in a doorway. "I think they've turned the heating off, typical."

"You're joking?" The young gent raised a sceptical brow. "First the coffee, then a rat- now the heating?" The DI shrugged his shoulders at this. "Are you sure we locked away that lunatic?"

"That case is now closed, Morse." As if about to berate him. "Tomorrow's a new day, probably a slow and very crimeless one, compared to today. Time to go."

Now, if DI Thursday had said that first- Morse would have been convinced to go home. Now he was ready-ish. But he didn't like the idea of his boss succeeding in kicking him off his cloud. But let's muse him. Morse stood up and made an elaborate gesture of grabbing his coat. "Erm I'm off now Sir." He fiddled with his collar, drawing upon Fred's very victorious face. "Oh- sorry, I forgot to remind you to call your family."

The Inspector smiled with his eyes. "It's all taken care of, now push off." He indicated with his head towards the door. Morse felt he was watched all the way to the exit- he supposed it was to make sure he actually left the premises. He was the only colleague who could actually get into trouble for sneaking into work.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He got to the boarding house front door around 12 am, he unlocked it and shuffled into the main hall. He was on auto-pilot, so he went through the motions of what he normally did. He peered at the notice board, shifted the vase of flowers so he wouldn't knock it over in the morning, and then went to his door, quietly- he didn't want to disturb Ms French. His shoe kicked something papery and he looked downward to investigate. So he couldn't exactly switch off just yet. He stooped, and straightened with a brown bag in his hand. Morse waited till he was inside before inspecting its contents. He frowned- these were not his. But who would give him this? –Perhaps a mistake?

He turned the apple in his hand, the chocolate remained untouched on the table surface. The weight of the bag indicated there was something more- he tipped it up and something shiny clattered down next to the chocolate-

'A pin?' He mouthed to the empty flat. He rolled it about in his hand to feel the value of it- which weren't much, about 70p. His face darkened as a very sinister thought came to mind. What if it was the lunatic?- A present left before he was captured. He dropped it immediately. There could be hazardous material lacing the items. He seized the bag ready to deposit the 'evidence,' when he abruptly caught a whiff of something not entirely unpleasant. Careful. He hesitantly raised the hollow of the bag to his nose and sniffed, before trusting his instincts. He inhaled deeply. Morse's lids fluttered. Whoaw- smells like…vanilla, and…opium? It was a fleeting memory, but he was uncertain on whether he had smelled that scent somewhere before. He took another long and deciphering sniff. Conclusion; yes, he had smelt that smell before, and recently. He narrowed his eyes like he were interrogating a suspect.

'Something tells me they'll be something else nice waiting for you at home.' – He recalled what DI Thursday had said in the car. Well that was a very good hunch, inspector. Either that, or he was entirely aware of it. But a scented bag?- A prank maybe? It must have been common knowledge on the force he wasn't getting any female company around his flat, so by putting this into his possession – did they seriously believe he would become game for action? – Stage one of the prank?-

Morse's core went very cold, and his posture stiff- he looked towards his other room. "Hello?" Silence. He stood up speedily enough to reaffirm his dominance. If someone was indeed hiding in his room, he should hold on to the pretence that he was very willing to defend himself in a dignified manner. "I'm not in the mood to be trifled with- perhaps you'll feel the same after I put you through the hell I am capable of putting you through." His voice remained on the same level it did when he was talking to a witness, calm and resilient. He flung his leg at the door in question to knock it open. It was quick, but he got a good view of an empty room. Idiot. He closed his eyes, and filed away another act of foolishness.

So the scented bag of goodies was…a scented bag of goodies. Could he utilize these items?- Possibly. A Prank doesn't really end like this, so it must be a gift. The tie pin found its way into his hand. DI Thursday was going to get a thorough quizzing tomorrow.

Endeavour arranged his clothes for the next morning in a pile- and slipped into some thermals for bed. He kept the light on a little while to read his law books. During a rather interesting chapter of one -he reached across his side-table and absently grabbed the chocolate bar. It was only when he was tasting it he realized he was actually utilizing a gift. He sniffed the chocolate for an almond aroma- cyanide. Well it would be too late if there was any. He wasn't the type to eat in bed, he hated crumbs and splinters- but here he was- nodding off with a scented wrapper clinging to his content face. He finally slipped into the land of slumber, nurtured by a cloud of vanilla and opium. Or maybe he was dying.

R&R


	5. Chapter 5

Joan woke up to the sound of voices; whispering harshly in the early hours of the morning. She lay there for a moment distinguishing whose voices she was eavesdropping on.

"Now then, I'm fine." -Pops.

"You had to tell me didn't you, a few drinks and your code of honour slips. I'm going to worry all night now."

Her mother was worried and sounded slightly angry, it could only mean dad had blabbed about something work related, something discomforting. Joan kept still as the landing light went on outside her room.

"Fred don't, she'll sense something bad has happened- plus she's asleep." Dark shapes appeared in the slit of the door, Joan squeezed her eyes shut to feign being in a slumber. It was futile really- he would come in and wake her if it was urgent. The light from the hall spilled into her room and onto her face, she squinted and recoiled as if she had been startled awake. "Sorry sweetheart."

"Dad, what's the matter?" She sat up and rubbed her eyes, exposing some new Pyjamas.

"It's alright love, had a bit of a funny sort of day, had to see the face of my children- Awwh- is that new night attire?- My little girl-" He was about to go into a sappy speech when her mother assisted him from the room.

Mrs Thursday smiled and mouthed 'goodnight' before firmly shutting the door, she heard the same thing happen further down the hall in Sam's room. He was obviously doing the rounds of fatherly gratitude. Her mother had been right; she was going to worry over what happened today. Joan sighed heavily and sunk back down into her foetal position. She knew her dad had a risky job that affected all of them, it had been a long while since he had done something like that. She sunk her teeth into her lip. Maybe someone had nearly died?...Either Dad or Morse.

Joan screwed her eyes up. Thank God he didn't ask about the mission. She didn't need a test on what was in the bag she was supposed to give to the constable. Hopefully her substitutes had sufficed, and she hadn't given him something he was allergic to, or something that could be considered- love tokens. Imagine that; one of dad's colleagues becoming aware of a girl's secret trips to his home. When exactly was her dad going to bring to matter up with the man concerned? Was she to be a secret helper? She turned over in hopes of ridding herself of what could be plaguing her father and mother minds to have them up and about at this hour. There had been murders written about in the paper, none of which she personally knew the victims- but the thought of her dad getting mixed up with them- was too close to home. How can one sleep now? She gave her pillow a gruff punch before trying again to sleep.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Morse shuffled into his DI's office, unsure whether or not to bring up the bag of trinkets. They had been assigned an old case which they had been on prior to the 'serial murders'. The case was merely fraud, not that urgent in Morse's books, it affected his speed and concentration. He stood in relative silence in the office. Thursday was very much aware he was there. "Morse?"

"Oh… right." He drifted forward. "Did you drop something around my flat last night?"

Fred raised a vacant eyebrow. "What?" It was very abrupt, even for him. The younger gent looked a little worried, even as the DI picked him apart with his eyes. In just a second it registered in the elder's brain. Morse saw the recognition and was hopeful. "Morse, do you really think I have time for anything like that?"

"Oh, well of course not." He fingered his collar. "Just, I've had something dropped off at my flat, not dangerous mind you, just- the sender didn't leave a note, and I assumed it was you."

Thursday toyed with his pipe- almost morbidly. A playful smile danced on his lips before he fixed it into that of bafflement. "Why would you believe that? - Just because I have a new colleague going through a bit of a puddle doesn't mean I'm going to molly-coddle them." He stood to assert his authority. "I understand we are a team, we watch each other's back, but once we cross the threshold of one's home, the business should be left by the door."

"Ah- well that's why you see I assumed it was you, it were left by the door." The constable established in his adolescent but meticulous voice.

The inspector looked upon him quite fondly, since he had managed to absorb his family's code after such a short visit. He turned as if to look upon his notice board thoughtfully- it gave him time to think and re-fix his face, which was stifling a snigger. He moved around speedily to burp out something ludicrous before he changed his mind. "Maybe you have an admirer?"

Endeavour did a double take, all the while Fred held himself together. "Highly unlikely, what I have aren't tokens…they're more consumerables, and very mundane at that."

"A little ungrateful, don't you think?" He retorted before he could stop himself, he received a look of discomfort from his detective. "I can assume in the past you have got ornate gifts from women pursuing you."

Rubbing his ear-lobe thoughtfully- "It doesn't take past experience to know this isn't really someone professing their love." He went quiet- as if he had just heard himself. "By the looks of it; it isn't a mature person doing this-"

This had the inspector genuinely miffed. That was odd. "Right…" He moved around the desk to perch on the front. "Do you have any young neighbours?" Crossing his arms in examination of the situation.

Morse shook his head looking at his shoe. "I have one, but I have eliminated her from the inquiry."

"This isn't a case, Morse." He knew that- but it was funny seeing the gent pick it apart like it was one. "Anything on the fraudsters' case?"

"Well the person is using a biro…"He trailed off uninterested. "Though it could be an honest mistake, wrong flat maybe?"

"Huh?"

Morse was rubbing the back of his head. "Biro. Fraudsters using a biro, if it were me I would have used a type writer, less work for myself." Getting back on track, he dawdled in the office a bit longer, wary of slipping back into the other subject. He dismissed himself. This gave the DI an opportunity to make a personal phone call.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Joan checked herself in the mirror of the hallway and quickly blasted herself with some perfume. Done. She heard the phone ring but thought nothing of it- she was already through the door so no one would catch her in the hall. It wasn't enough, the person who answered the phone must have been on the phone for just a second- and more so aware that she had just left, because she heard the front door open and someone beckoning her back inside. "It's Pops, he wants to talk to you."

She looked back shrewdly. "When I'm already out the house- you say; she's just left- can I take a message?"

"-What, to Pops? You must be joking- how do you know I didn't say that, and dad was just persistent?"

True, her dad would do that. "I'm coming." She shimmied back into the house and seized the receiver. "Dad."

He cut straight to the point. "Right Joan- I need you to think back to what was in that bag you dropped off, just to clarify."

"I-err-hm-"

He continued as if he didn't require an answer. "I'll need you to get them again, maybe throw in something extra."

She sensed her brother linger in the hall to eavesdrop and give her added anxiety.

Nevertheless, Joan soldiered on regardless. "You know what- I didn't actually look in the bag." She toyed with her earring. "I just did what you needed; dropped the bag off. So perhaps you could tell me?"

"You mean you never checked beforehand?-"

Think think think. "Well no one exactly instructed me to look, I assumed it was confidential- and I thought I was honouring that." Very well done, she patted herself on the back.

"I commend your restraint, sweetheart, I suppose you'll have to ask your mother."

She felt her lips tighten at that thought. Okay. "Or I could take the duty off mother- improvise."

There was a very reassuring pause. "Could you do that?" It was a theoretical question. "Well I suppose I implied the other day you had an additional job, this could be it. Just pick up a few gifts and send them over again. Make it a routinely thing."

This would be difficult, what else can you get for someone who's a busy colleague of her father's? "What should I get him, did he have any requests?"

Another reassuring pause. "Ah- well he doesn't exactly know about us."

The air left the room, she tightened her grip on the receiver for fear of it falling from her hand. "What?!- Dad, he doesn't know…how can he not know?- Didn't you suggest he needed support?" She realised she might have stepped on her own foot here- surely the original bag had a note in- she cringed imagining Ronnie seeing that note- if it indeed existed. "Perhaps a get well soon card?"

"Good idea- I'm surprised your mother didn't think of that."

"It is a wonder." Her palms were beginning the sweat. "Yes, leave it all to me." She was about to ring off- when her father interjected with a rather bizarre request.

"I've had a rather good thought, since Morse is currently unaware of the sender of his gift- we could leave it that way." The inspector crossed all his fingers, bringing the phone slightly away from his ear, in case his daughter raised her voice in annoyance.

"What's your game, dad?- I've become an anonymous keeper now…" This was a lot of trouble, how can you get that feel good feeling if you're not getting any credits for the deeds done? "Okay, I'll take that as a blessing, wouldn't want any rumours going around the force that you've gone soft."

"Good girl."

"-Woman."

"That's right, see this through to the end and I'll bump up your curfew."

She had a curfew, a grown woman had a curfew? "And the blessing extends to me as well, wouldn't want anybody thinking I was pursuing the constable." She realised her error with wording it out loud when her brother whooped behind her. "Dear Lord Sam- I could just get you to do it!" Her brother went quiet behind her. She heard her father chuckling at the other end, further adding to her torment. "Give me an idea of what I'm giving him."

"Love." Sam chimed in the background, and she reached around to try and grab the scruff of his neck.

"Shouldn't you be stuffing your face around about this time?!" Joan exclaimed over her shoulder. "Not you dad, Sammy." She added down the phone.

The DI recovered. "Like you said before; Improvise." He never for a moment thought she had been speaking to him. "Bye now sweetheart, love you." And he was off.

And she guessed that was his way of saying; Good luck.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Morse had his elbows resting on his desk. His jacket was off, which normally meant he was in the middle of a vast amount of paperwork. After what seemed like a minute's lapse in concentration- he returned to pounding the typewriter. So they were putting his highly trained literacy skills to good use. His fellow detective he usually shared the office with had got off easy, he had been chosen to attend a crime scene, which had left him to do all the administration duties. So he was alone, unsupervised, and un-stimulated.

Something was weighing down in his pocket, he had been itching to get it out all day. Time for some new-fangled criminal profiling. He tugged out the brown paper bag secreted in his pocket. He sniffed it again to refresh his memory; Ah, vanilla and opium. It had plagued his thoughts all night and day; a fragrance that could launch a thousand ships- hm he could have a job in advertising. He had already established that the gifts were probably given by a female, and someone not yet fully matured. The gifts were purchased quickly and with very little money, almost carelessly- typical of a youth.

The perfume had him in a grasp once more, his head was nearly in the bag. Vanilla and Opium- such class, so exotic- would a youth with so little money splash out on such a perfume? -Unless it was a gift. To establish the class of the girl and her family, he would need to investigate the name of the perfume and where it was sold. He stopped. Was he really going to put in this much effort in finding an anonymous drop off?- It still could have been an honest mistake. He screwed his face up to decide whether it was worth it.

His paperwork beckoned him. But so did the perfume.


	6. Chapter 6

Joan had had a very close call. She had been very nonchalant about her plans for that morning. Right up until the moment she turned down into the street of the boarding house, and spied a certain detective constable strolling up the very same street. He was walking in the same direction, but away from her, but still- it had been a close one. Supposing she had reached the door the same time he had opened it to leave? Dead. Well not exactly dead, her plans would have been scuppered though. How would one explain why she was there without mentioning him, or the bag she held in her mitts? She swiftly put the bag behind her on approach to the property. By then, the fair haired man in question had crossed the road and had disappeared around the corner.

The young Thursday still had her heart in her mouth after her near miss with 'the rabbit', and it took several clenched fists and hair tucks to get over that little surprise. The key she stole from the other day was burning in her coat pocket. She brandished it, and it aptly glimmered in her hand. Now for the lock. It fit precisely- which was what she had been counting on. Since it was broad daylight, she had to act as if she lived there, so she had to be quick and casual, but quiet. She didn't close the door behind her since she was going to just drop off her recent purchases and head to work. She had gone for a more tidy lunch caddy inside the bag, so nothing was rolling around or mingled. Joan had put together a tuna salad, a chocolate bar and a new tie, she even had a card included- a gift shop type card. To avoid any particular smell dominating the bag; she quickly sealed a puff of her perfume in there.

It only took less than 10 seconds to complete the drop-off, she was out of the building and down the road before any knew she was ever there. She smiled to herself and disappeared into the mid morning crowd on the main street.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Thursday and Morse were out at a 'scene'. As if they had rehearsed it- they in unison pulled out their identification and warrant cards.

"Detective Inspector Thursday."

"-Detective Constable Morse, City Police."

The witness about to be consulted, nodded in acknowledgement. "I have already given my details to a PC."

"But we're CID, we have a better chance at dealing with these matters." Morse retorted, tucking his wallet away. "You have some cheques deposited here by the suspect…"

There was some fiddling as the witness fondled with a wad of cheques. Morse screwed his face up at the inconvenience of it all and the general tardiness of invoices.

Thursday noted the kafuffle also unimpressed."Sorry…but how exactly did you leave it to mount to this many cheques when they supposedly bounced?"

Morse reached a conclusion before the witness had time to open his mouth. "Supposedly if the business was operating under normal week-day conditions, it needed to mount up in bulk before anything is cashed, it would be too time consuming to do it individually after every transaction."

Thursday indicated to the piles. "I was referring to fact that the cheques were already separated as if they were already suspicious- and it's taken up to now for you to look into it. The man could have deposited cheques all up the street before anything was done."

Morse had something more to say. "I assumed he separated them just before we arrived."

The witness nodded. "That I did, I even passed some of the cheques on to the constable I mentioned."

Both the detectives shared a curious look. Funny, they hadn't received any new cheques in the office. The elder of the two officials took over. "Did they ask for the cheques, or did you just give them him because he was a member of the police?"

The member of staff didn't hide the fact he was nervous. "I thought he had the authority to take them." The detectives looked shifty. "Did I do something wrong?"

Thursday jumped in before Morse could get in to ridicule the man. "No no, you did fine. Just always ask for more information, don't rely on the uniform alone."

Morse tried to be as polite as possible. "Please tell me- Did the PC give a name?"

"Yes, Doe."

A John Doe. Another awkward shared glance between the detectives. "Thank you." Morse did a very polite but somewhat strained smile to define the end of their interrogation. When they got out of earshot, and were within the threshold of the shop did they utter another word.

Thursday outed it first.-"Someone impersonating an officer."

"I figured, sir." He said over the shop bell as they passed through the door. "They either thought they were taking the lot with them so they wouldn't reach the station to be put on file, they didn't know the shop keeper had more of them tucked away. The suspect could of intended to reuse them- after giving them a good washing." His hand dug in his pockets in thought. "A lot of trouble to go to get money, they're better off robbing the place, or better still get a job and earn it themselves."

The DI chuckled. "If that happened- we'd be all out of a job." They hastily approached their car. "These fraudsters have tack, and a lot bigger operation than we imagined. It could even be rival fraudsters, both sniffing each other's merchandise."

That was a pretty big assumption, even for him. Morse squinted against the gleam reflected off the car hood. "Criminal gangs in little old oxford."

"Don't you scoff- we've had loads of mobs popping up left, right and centre- you can make money illegally anywhere, Morse."

"I wasn't scoffing, sir." He slipped into the driver's seat. When he heard the passenger side door slam shut did he start the engine. "Station?"

"Jakes is at Joan's bank giving them a run through of the precautions. Someone attempted to rob the other bank this week, I wouldn't be surprised if they targeted them next."

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Sir." He spoke cagily as they pulled off the curb. Why did you say that? It had been rather personal, he questioned his professionalism for even thinking about it- but his DI had started it all just by referring to the bank as 'Joan's'. He rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He hoped Fred would comment on what he had said, or at least express a little fatherly concern. Alas he was 'at work', he had probably filed it away as a distraction. Which is probably what Morse should have been doing. But there was this nagging, someone knocking on the back door of his head.

"Eyes on the road, Morse." A drawl arose him from his trail of thought, and he jerked the steering wheel ever so slightly to put himself in the correct lane. "We better head down there to see if all's in order."

Morse would have done the same thing if it had been his relative at the bank. "Of course."He directed the car in the vicinity of the bank. Thursday had the door open before the car had parked, he was keen.

As usual DI Thursday walked in at a moderately fast speed, like he owned the place, fully wrapped up like he had come in from a storm. "Jakes." He called across the waxed floors. Morse spotted Jakes with his back to them, giving the bank staff a lecture, and not very discreetly. It was obvious the place was teaming with coppers. If a robber came in here now- he would have looked about, turned, and ran with their tail between their legs.

Morse lingered in the background to survey the room, and predict a robber's movements. He admired everything about these type of surroundings. The desks were polished, antique books adorned shelves, pens in their own inkwells, and beautiful interior with a lot of character. Oh yes- the stuff of oxford. The place had obviously received its weekly clean in the night, the buffer fluid and detergents were infiltrating his nostrils. Someone had been over zealous with their cleaning agents.

He assumed all the staff were present and at Jake's mercy, so you could imagine his surprise when a pair of legs emerged from around a screened section of the bank. A woman of average height turned to lock the place from where she had came, her dark hair pulled up into a neat beehive, if it hadn't been for the mini pleated skirt he would have mistaken her for a senior member of staff. The woman at a distance turned, before he even registered who it was- she gasped- "You." It echoed across to him. It was an understatement to say he was taken aback. So she knew him- but what had he done to deserve such a greeting?- His severe features softened when he placed the girl's face with that of Joan Thursday. Having one's hair up really did wonders for her.

He narrowed his eyes, he had been staring. "Miss Thursday." He said with every ounce of professionalism he could muster. Her guard had been up when she had spotted him, but that left her once he had spoke. How peculiar. "DI Thursday is with me on business."

Her brow quirked towards her hairline. "You make that sound like you have been promoted above my father." Her drawl reminiscent of her old man. "Unless there is another Thursday on the force I don't know about?" She peered over to the cluster of staff. "Oh my father has a double…won't my mother be in for a treat." She bestowed him a half smile before carrying on down the corridor clutching at some files. He watched her like a hawk all the way to the horde of bank minions, he caught her give a small acknowledgement to her father who still had his work hat on. For now, he wasn't her father. DS Jakes momentarily stalled his lecture to leer at the new addition to his audience, the woman in question was unperturbed by this- maybe even basking in it. The poor girl had to deal with this on a daily basis.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Endeavour had spent 90% of his time engrossed in his work, 5% on self grooming, 5 % on nourishment- hm… well he did feel a bit peckish, I might still have that apple. He let himself into the boarding house, and halted on the mat at the sight of another package. A sigh escaped him as he scooped it up- it rattled.

He took no time going into his flat and tearing into it like a ravenous animal. Food. It appeared lovingly prepared this time, opposed to just bought and thrown in willy-nilly. He rested it by his night stand ceremoniously, along with the new chocolate. He examined a tie that came with the goodies, it unravelled in his hand and released the odour of vanilla and opium. Heavens above. Instead of just silently admiring the aroma- he released a hum, it was probably in response to the sudden pang he got in his stomach and chest. He didn't get that feeling very often- it was as alien as dancing with no music.

The paper bag was still not empty- good god, a card. It was a little dented from extracting the other goods, but its very existence made it perfect. Upon looking inside the card he was left confounded. It was blank- apart from a printed inscription 'Get well soon.' They knew. Even though his wound wasn't an illness or a hindrance- they were aware, this wasn't a mistake or a prank. Alarm bells should have been ringing but he sank down onto his covers perplexed. Who other than the DI would know or even care about him, and not even want credit for this kindness?


	7. Chapter 7

They told her she couldn't leave her desk until she had completed the paperwork on the transactions for the day so far. So that's precisely what she was doing. Nothing would have removed her skirted buttocks from that creaky chair, not Ronnie, and especially some sergeant giving a talk on the risks of robbers- in banks. She had had this talk when she had started her job, it was completely redundant, besides -Ronnie said he would rescue her. Oh how she would titter.

She didn't really pay attention to the voices that echoed about the main hall, people came and went- it was a bank after all! After about two hours of paper pushing, she rubbed at her neck in strain- time to stop. She uncrossed her legs and stood up at the desk. What a mess she had made. She hated administration, she preferred being the cashier, dealing with the customers- the work completed itself. Joan organised everything in chronological order. Right, now to get it checked by her supervisor. She did a single scooping action and everything collected into one pile in her hand. The pile's bottom was bashed on the table to perfect it. Good, done. She didn't like spending too much time on her own, she got a little sloppy when she wasn't being watched. Hopefully she had missed most of the lecture. She curved her body around the desk to fit through the gap to reach the door- to freedom.

The arrangement of the offices allowed for people sitting up or standing at the correct height to see over the panels and through the glass screens. So she wouldn't have been alarmed by anyone milling about in the hall. Joan stepped out the office and was about to take off in search of her supervisor. But remembering there was probably a civilian loitering not far from her, she dodged back to close her door and lock it as a precaution. She wasn't about to be undone by a robber posing as a civilian, especially due to the rise of thefts in the area. There was a pause between her discreetly removing the key from the lock and returning it to her pocket. Joan was having a déjàvu of that morning doing the same thing at the constable's boarding house. The civilian nearby had gone still and quiet- it was probably best not to just walk off ignoring them completely, she had intended to shoot them a fleeting smile before dismissing herself. So she looked. Oh. She was staring into the aristocratic face of Morse. "You." He reared back, his hands falling out of his pockets, making his trench coat tumble back into place. Why was he here?- Did he know?- Was she under arrest for entering his boarding house? But if she didn't feel so indestructible she probably would have left sooner.

"DI Thursday is with me on business." He began at a pitched but groggy tone- as if he hadn't spoke for quite some time. It was probably this slip that made him come across less severe- for she really had thought she was in trouble. Nothing to fear- it was just Morse, being Morse.

Joan felt like laughing, she composed herself. "You make that sound like you have been promoted above my father." She waited for him to fill the gap with a retort or an extension of his business call, but his face remained placid- but doe like. Sigh. "Unless there is another Thursday on the force I don't know about?" Her colleagues were bunched together, almost like a choir, listening to the two members of authority; Aha there's Pops. "Oh my father has a double…won't my mother be in for a treat." She bestowed him a half smile, which he mirrored back before she left for the main hall, keeping hold of her paperwork. The younger Thursday had tried to engage him, but as always he seemed reluctant.

She reached her fellow colleagues that were being subjected to a kind reminder of the dangers of armed robberies when- Hello. The sleek haired foxy DS Jake's hooded eyes fell on her, and she tried her best not to flutter her eyelashes in the presence of her father. She had problems; despite her good breeding, she had a weakness for smartly dressed men. Joan would turn into a keen teenager against everything her mother had taught her. Never be openly keen, and get recommendations or make inquiries through third parties. Which is some bloody good advice.

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The following morning- Morse waited, poised by his flat door- on the inside of course. If he dwindled from the hall side he would have raised suspicion. No one would come when he was in. He wiggled his fingers near the knob. Or would they? He hadn't considered that maybe on every occasion he had had a package, they had originally intended to meet him in person. So maybe if he waited a little longer in the mornings- he would be fortunate to see them. He shot a glance at his clock on the wall, he was going to be late.

It crossed his mind as he put his trench coat on that the package could have been delivered during lunch hours- maybe the person worked?

There was the usual bumps outside, from other residents leaving their flats. He wondered. The constable hovered close to the door again. Heavy foot falls close to his door- not ones he associated with a young woman, reached his ears. He seized the doorknob and yanked it hard and fast. The matronly Ms French jumped and clutched at her chest, she glowered at him from her position in the hall. Surely not. He eyed her handbag swinging from her wrist, he had caught her mid stride. "Erm- Morning Ms French." Those words rarely left his lips- he self-consciously smiled, and she merely huffed a 'morning' and carried on down the landing. Definitely not. It was time to go, he couldn't leave the inspector waiting.

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Morse pulled up near the Thursday's residence. Since he wasn't a taxi, he got out and lent on the hood. He didn't want to be faced with the awkwardness of waiting in the hallway of the household, which is why he didn't knock. They were expecting him, so he waited.

The inspector emerged from his household on time, clutching a bag containing his lunch. The younger gent scrutinized the bag, before filing its appearance away in his head. Those bags were universal."Morning, Sir."

"Morse." He didn't have much to say this morning, he budged into his seat, Morse clambered in simultaneously. "Give me a day when I can just lie in bed all morning."

Morse couldn't do that, and he didn't really have the nerve to comment on it. So the conversation was a little nonexistent as they brummed along. A shop on the high street caught his attention that sold perfume- and his mind went there. He must have had a severe look etched onto his face, because the voice of the inspector became very loud in his ear.

"-Well it must be bad, since you're prolonging my agony, my superior power means nothing when you've got something on the brain, please tell me it's a case."

"Sorry- it's-" He used his finger to gesture the cogs in his brain. "Processing." Leaving his face firmly set on severe. "I had another package at my flat yesterday." He added quickly, just to test if the inspector was interested.

"Did you now?" Apparently he was interested."You're not worried, are you?- A girl's giving you a bit of attention, is it too much for you to put a spring in your step?"

That was an odd thing to ask from him, but another thing struck him as odd. "Sir?- How do you know it's a girl?"

The inspector's brows furrowed. "Hadn't you already implied it was a girl?"He looked to the younger gent who was obviously racking his brains.

"It could be a boy, or a man. A prank." He shot him a funny sort of look.

Thursday had a feeling he was on to him. "What are you getting at?- Are you still insisting it's me- sorry- but no Morse." It was true. "But you could be right, there are men about who could seek your affections. But remember- you cleverly deducted that you're looking for a young female." He gave his sandwiches a good sniff in an effort to change the subject. "Cheese and pickle, but with brown bread- how unusual of win." He took a sneaky bite to test the new combination. "Still works."

Constable Morse still circumspect -looked to the road in front with narrowed eyes. The bag of mystery was folded neatly in his pocket.

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Morse gathered himself and entered through the shop door- the bell jingled, so it wasn't as discreet as he would have liked, everybody looked up from their browsing. They would have seen a cautious young man strolling through the shelves, trench coat agape. A man on a mission. He ventured rather stiltedly to the women's ablutions section, and waited. For the majority of his life he has been waiting for something. He couldn't face ringing the bell for service, luckily a dazed shop girl emerged from the back through some dangling door beads. "Hello, can I help you?"

"Well let's see." His hand motioned for his card. Really? You're going to use it, now? It was already open and words were tumbling out of his mouth as he mentally and morally bashed himself. "Detective Constable Morse, City Police." It seemed to have had a sobering effect on the girl. "I need you to identify this perfume." He yanked out the 'evidence' and meticulously unfolded it, he used a quick open hand jerk to open the hollow of the bag, and jabbed it in her face. She obliged.

"Vanilla." She said without any difficulties. "It's a very popular fragrance."

"-And opium?"

The girl became less than comfortable. "We don't sell that here, sir… it's a bad substance." She added for the benefit of the customers as well as the detective. "We are very careful about what is given to us."

"I'm sure you are, but this ingredient has been used regardless, it isn't illegal to use as an air freshener. I'm not here to report this or any businesses, I'm merely researching the brand of this perfume, and who is likely to buy it." He enunciated like he was talking to a fellow detective. "Do you have anything that fits the bill?"

"No." She stated, clearly already lost her patience. She served a customer that appeared at the till- which terminated his interrogation.

"Thank you." He uttered to no one and left. He must have had 'push-over' written on his face. He engrossed himself with the window display. The place was quaint, and had low stock- he figured the woman wouldn't have shopped here. As this thought arose he began to visualize the suspect, but in his head the figure remained faceless, but blonde, with kinky boots. Why?

Morse carried it with him past the launderettes and then recalled Pamela- 'the beautiful girl' who had used that place. He highly doubted it was her travelling many miles with her son in tow, to drop off gifts at his flat. Though, she had been very grateful. A smile lingered on his lips. Inconceivable. He reached a department store with a bit more class, and repeated his routine. This time his receiver was a maturer woman with a little more knowledge.

"Ah, Patchouli is known as the new hippie scent-of-choice, renowned for being used in King Tutankhamen's tomb." There was a bumping sound within the store, followed by a squeaking of glass being wiped, the retail assistant was briefly distracted, lowering her glasses on her nose.

"Ah, so it isn't vanilla?" Morse continued- trying to hold the topic.

"It has both, and very nice I must say." This must have been the most fun she had had in a while. "Patchouli and vanilla is a match made in heaven, don't you think?" She was keeping a firm grip on his bag.

"It's working on me all right." It was an honest answer- before he realized "On the woman that is, I don't mean I wear it myself." He tried blatantly as the woman judged him with her bespectacled eyes. Moving swiftly on-"Do you detect opium?"

"Why yes." She reared, easily excited. "It is an acquired cent, better in small doses- mixed well I think." She smelt the bag like it was a bouquet. "Unfortunately I don't have anything with that combination." She said in all seriousness. "Shame, I think it would sell as well." She returned his bag. "Sorry."

The constable gave her a patient nod. "I had a suspicion you wouldn't." He bid her goodbye and left the department. It was his route out which gave him a notion- he saw the opium incense sticks on a shelf. Maybe the opium wasn't part of the perfume at all, maybe it was the suspect's environment, or more strangely, the perfume was manufactured by the person themselves? He geared off in the direction of the tills clutching a box of incense sticks.

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Joan needed to plan ahead. Save the mid-morning panic of buying what she needed for the bag, and then the hassle of dropping it off. Varying the times of the drop-off might help?- Since Morse might be becoming more alert on when she might be in the area. Excited Joan? –Wipe that smile off your face! He didn't strike her as the type to get palpitations over gifts. Perhaps bestow polite smiles or head nods of acknowledgement- nothing more- not even a stretch for a hug. It was worth talking to a friend about, a great conversation topic it would make. Alas, her night school friends weren't in the area, and her colleagues were having a brunch at the local pub. Plus, they would make fun of her. Sigh. She would have took a lunch with Ronnie. But Ronnie's friends were a bad influence on him- telling him things like 'take charge, pin her, keep an eye on her.' Yikes, if this was her generation of romancers, she wasn't sure she liked it. If she had a deep passion for Ronnie, the 'romance' might have worked- but she felt like a cat floundering in a bath tub.

She rummaged in her handbag for her change purse, the catch had worn away from extensive use, so it came open frequently. All the coins had fallen to the bottom of her bag. Curses. Joan was basically buried to her elbow in the bag, fiddling. She scooped what she could into her hand- and took a step into the revolving door of the department store. She froze. Morse was within shouting distance inside talking to a much older woman, clearly having a ball. She forgot and then remembered she was in a revolving door, so when she had froze the door had kept moving and she found herself bumped and pinned to the glass as the door continued to move her around. She turned so she was looking into the shop as she came back outside. That's where she was spat back out. Joan straightened her disheveled self, there was no need to fuss over a little detective in her regular shop. Then why aren't you going back in, Joan?

\-----I'm actually quite concerned with the copy and pasting facility on this site, anyone could copy and paste works- and use material.------- fanfiction 'dot' net prevents this, for anyone eager to see what comes next go fanfiction 'dot' net


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